


Family Is Important, Isn't It?

by JoansGlove



Series: Slow Dance [4]
Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-02 15:28:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10947375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoansGlove/pseuds/JoansGlove
Summary: After her father's death Joan discovers that she is not alone and that she never truly was.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As always, dedicated to Dirty Duchess. Thanks mate x

If, a month ago, you had asked Joan to provide an example of serendipity then you would have been provided with a host of theoretical examples. If you asked her today, then her answer would be based on personal experience.

 

Joan couldn’t believe that she had managed to find her grandmother so easily or so quickly. And of all places, in Brisbane. There was no question of what she was going to do with this information. She’d mailed a brief letter introducing herself and asking to visit in two weeks’ time (even though she could ill afford it). Her gran sent a cheery note back telling her pop in any time, signing off as ‘Harry’, and in brackets, ‘your Gran’.  

 

Joan had rehearsed what she was going to say so many times that the words had stopped making sense but, in the end, it turned out that she hadn’t needed them at all. “Oh, my!” the small, iron grey woman exclaimed throatily, squinting up at the nervous young woman on the doorstep. “Well, Darl, there’s no one else you can be but little Joanie, you're the spit of your mother but gawd, you’ve grown since I seen you last!” She put her hands on her broad hips and surveyed her granddaughter with an expression that said ‘you’ll do’.  “Where’s your dad? Does he know you're here?” she poked her head through the door and peered up and down the street.

“He’s dead.” How absurd that this should be the first thing she said to her long lost grandmother she thought later when she had chance to make sense of the day.

“Oh well,” she said brightly, “couldn’t have happened to a nicer chap!” Joan was helpless to prevent the grin that flashed across her face, her gran was right. “Come on in, Joanie, I’ll put the kettle on and you can tell me all about yourself.” She grabbed Joan by the hand and towed her inside into a cluttered, yet spotless, front parlour.

 

“I always wondered if I’d ever see you again, family’s important, isn’t it, eh? I’ve always said so, I’ve never agreed with all this nuclear family nonsense…” Her gran chattered on as she made tea and Joan drifted around the cosy parlour in a dream-like fog. She still couldn’t believe her luck!

 

The sideboard was covered with photographs from eras way past, they were mostly stiff, formal portraits but a few caught the vitality of moments long since vanished. Together, they created a family of strangers, an unknown history that tugged at her curiosity. Harry found Joan looking at them as she brought in the tea. “Looking for your mum? Here we are, here she is.” She picked up a photo of a happy teenager at the beach and handed it to Joan. The young woman in the picture could have been Joan's twin. In fact, most of the women in the photographs bore a striking similarity to each other. Joan remarked on the strong family resemblance.

“Yeah all us women have a certain look. Look, here’s me at your age,” she pointed out her wedding photo, “and there’s your great-grandma.” It really was uncanny how alike these women were, they all had the same square jaw and fine, prominent nose, the same deep-set eyes and sensual mouth, and all had masses of glossy, black hair. Joan studied her gran’s still-handsome face wondering if she would age as gracefully.

 

“We come from Assyrian nobility, you know,” continued her gran, “not that there’s a throne to claim any more. And this is the woman that started it all – Bathishwa,” (she pronounced it ‘Batish-va’). From a drawer, she produced a slim wooden case and opened it to reveal a small enamelled portrait of a handsome woman draped in silks and jewels.

“My god,” she breathed, “how old is this?” Each of the painter’s brushstrokes were delicate and precise, bringing the woman’s proud beauty effortlessly to the fore. 

“Almost 200 years I reckon.”

After so many years of feeling like a stranger in her own home it was staggering to find out that she was part of a dynasty of women that stretched back through the ages. She needed to know if there were more of them out there. “Have I got cousins, aunts and uncles?” Joan asked.

“No, Darl, and it’s a shame. I dunno what happened – there were heaps of us when I was a kid, and then there was just me and your mum. You would have had an auntie Allegra too, but she died when she was little.” A shadow of grief tightened the corners of her dark eyes and she gave a small shake of her head to dispel it before smiling warmly at Joan. “Now it’s just you and me, isn’t it? And Bernard, of course.”

She frowned, “Bernard?”

“The cat. You’ll meet him if he feels like coming home for a feed, but he’s a randy little fella,” Harry chuckled indulgently, “always off somewhere causing trouble.”

 

Joan took the picture of her Mum with her to the couch and pored over the image of the sun-kissed girl in shorts and halter-neck. She looked so carefree. Fragmented images of her early childhood flitted around one of her strongest memories, the one where her mother tucked her into bed and kissed her goodnight, always with the same loving words: ‘Zhannochka, zhizn’ moya, dusha moya…’ – Joanie, my life, my soul. It was the only loving Russian words she ever heard at home.

“What was she like?” she asked looking up at her grandmother.

“Your mum? Oh, she was a real treasure, she was such a happy girl, always smiling, always the one to help another person out. She wanted to be a nurse, you know, and she could have done it too…” Harry’s croaky voice tailed off and her eyes clouded over again.

“If only she hadn’t had married Dad?”

“Yes. If only she hadn’t married your dad.”

 

Harry sat beside Joan and stroked the silver frame with timeworn fingers. “He was a rum bugger, your dad - I never did like him much – and Sophia always seemed uncomfortable around him. And I never did forgive your granddad for arranging her marriage.” She eyed the photograph of her late husband on the mantel with something approaching distaste.

“You let him though. Didn’t you say anything?”

“But it wasn’t my place to! It was between your father and your granddad. I was brought up to respect my husband and not to question him.”

“But didn’t you care?”

“Of course I cared!” Harry exclaimed hotly, “I thought that I would just about die when she left for Russia.” She squeezed Joan's knuckles tightly, “but you get on with life, don’t you? You have to. And after a while the hurt stops being so bad, until it turns into something that makes you feel sad once in a while. If you keep the hurt alive then it’ll drive you mad – I’ve seen it happen.”

 

Joan thought back to how raw she’d felt when Maggie had left. It must have been a hundred times worse for her gran, she imagined.

 

“I was so happy though, when they came to Australia. I thought I’d have my daughter back, but it didn’t turn out like that. If we wanted to see her then we actually had to ask permission to visit. The bloody hide of that man!  And of course, there were always so many reasons why we couldn’t. But he couldn’t stop me ringing her up, couldn’t stop me from hearing the sadness in her voice. He changed my Sophia from a happy girl into a really unhappy woman. She was always so full of fun, you know? Everyone always said so, and such a good girl too. But he sucked it out of her, the joy, I mean. Yes, it broke my heart to hear her…”

 

Joan stared at the photograph for a long moment. She didn’t want to ask the next question but she had to know. “What happened to Mum? Do you know where she went?”

“He came here looking for her. Oh he was in a frightful temper! Dougie, that’s your granddad, well he tried to calm it down but Ivan wasn’t having any of it! I thought he was going to smash the place up, oh he was that wild! I looked into his eyes that night and I swear there was something missing, I can’t explain it properly, but it was as if he was this demon – and I haven’t been a religious woman for many a year – but it was just awful! I hope that I never see anything like it ever again!” she shuddered and drew her cardigan around her shoulders.”

 

“Yes, but where did she go?” she asked, pushing her hair behind her ear and looking at her gran with pleading eyes. “What was it that made her leave?”

“Well it was your father that made her leave, of course! He was an unreasonable man, Joan,” she tutted to herself, “what am I saying, I don’t have to tell you that do I, eh? And she never loved him, but that didn’t stop him – what she didn’t give freely he took anyway…” Harry paused for a moment to let her meaning sink in and smiled grimly as Joan's eyes widened. “Your granddad might have had his strange ways but he never laid a finger on me I didn’t want him to – too much of a gentleman for that sort of behaviour, but not your dad, oh no.”

 

“One day, she said that she’d met someone who made her realise that she couldn’t stay with Ivan any longer. She was scared to tell him that she wanted a divorce. But she was brave too,” Harry sniffed and bit her lip as her eyes became bright with un-spilled tears, “he nearly killed her. The neighbours called the Police and they put her in a safe house. She never went back.” The old woman gave Joan a look that almost broke her already fragile heart. “Oh, Darl, she hated herself for that but she couldn’t take you and Brian with her. Your dad made sure of that. And then he turned up at our house ranting and raving about how he was going to teach her a lesson. He wouldn’t believe that we didn’t know where she was, but we didn’t – she said that it was safer if I didn’t know.”

 

“Well, the upshot of all that brouhaha was that your dad stopped us from seeing you two completely. I lost my daughter and my darling grandchildren in one fell swoop. Oh, it was a bad business… You said in your note he told you me and your granddad were dead? What an arsehole! He wouldn’t even come to her funeral, you know? He wouldn’t let you and Brian say goodbye to her. Oh, it broke my poor heart to think of you poor little mites never knowing where she was…”

“Where is she?”

“She’s in the family plot. She’s sharing with her sister.”

Impulsively, Joan blurted out “can we go and see her?” Something told her that she needed to.

“Yes, of course we can, lovey.”  
“Now, I mean. Can we go now?”

“Well, yes, if you want to…”

 

********

 

The oppressive noon heat pressed down on them like a hot, wet blanket as they walked silently through the cemetery. Joan's heart beat loudly in her ears. She had so wanted to know where her mother was, but as the moment approached, the prospect of actually finding her, the reality of knowing that her bones lay beneath a small patch of earth made her feel sad and angry. It shouldn’t be like this, she thought blackly, Sophia should still be alive, and they should be visiting her father’s grave together to curse his name and raze his memory from their existence.

Despite her Grandma walking soberly beside her, Joan felt suddenly and totally alone in the world and she bit her bottom lip to stop it from wobbling as they made their way along the crunching gravel path.

 

Harry had chattered away about this and that during the drive out but she fell quiet as they passed through the gates and paused at the flower stall, and she had remained silent for the long minutes it took to reach the shady plot where two headstones stood a grave’s width apart. High in the trees, a magpie gave a raw cry and eyed the visitors with interested suspicion. Harry’s hand found Joan's and she squeezed her fingers, a little token of support for the sad girl beside her.

 

Douglas John Parslow

8th January 1918

16th March 1982

 

Allegra Ariadne Parslow

1st September 1949

4th May 1952

 

Sophia Ariadne Parslow

24th August 1947

26th November 1975

 

Harry laid a single white rose on her husband’s grave then divided the remaining bunch into two and laid them, cross-stemmed, on her daughters’ final resting place. Her lips moved silently and she lovingly touched the shoulder of the head stone before moving away and allowing Joan the time she needed.

The girl stood for a long time just staring at Sophia’s grave. Harry ached to go and give her a hug but she held back, rightly judging that she was overwhelmed with the whole sorry business.

 

Finally, Joan knelt and ran her fingers slowly over her mother’s name, tracing the letters carved deep into the polished marble. They shared their birthday. She had been born on her mother’s seventeenth birthday! Joan's mind floundered as she tried to imagine what it must have been like for her, to have been so young and so alone, and responsible for something so precious - but to have such an instant, unfaltering bond to another human being – Joan guessed that what she felt towards her mother was just a fraction of what it must really be like to love unconditionally like that. And it suddenly occurred to her that she would never get to experience that feeling, that she would never have a child of her own.

 

She laid thirteen stems of white chrysanthemums, one for every year of their separation, beneath the roses. It’s OK, Mum, she communed silently, I punished him for what he did. He won’t ever do it again. Joan blinked and heavy tears snaked down the side of her nose and wetted her tight smile. I’m glad you found love before you died though, I’m in love too. I’m in love with a woman, just like you were.

 

Joan kissed her fingers and transferred it to the hard letters of her mother’s name. She turned her head, searching for Harry. “Parslow? Not Kireyevova?”

Harry walked over to where Joan knelt and laid her hand on a bony shoulder. “Parslow, yes. She changed it back as soon as she left him. It never suited her, anyhow.” Joan covered Harry’s hand with her own and stood up. They regarded the grave for a moment.

 

“No mother expects to bury both of her children. It’s the worst thing in the world.” Harry’s croaky voice was thickened by sorrow.

No child expects to have to kill a parent either, thought Joan bitterly. “What did she die of?” she asked with feigned innocence.

Oh, Joanie, oh, my poor love…” tears brimmed in Harry’s dark eyes, “it’s so unfair that you should have to hear this, but my poor Sophia was murdered.” In evident pain, Harry told Joan how someone strangled Sophia and then stolen her car. How the Police said it must have been a hitch-hiker, how, at any rate, they’d never arrested anyone for it.

Hot tears rolled down Joan's face as her brain meshed this version of events with those that her father had delighted in telling her, and she helplessly watched the resulting scene play out in her mind’s eye. She swallowed hard – could she reveal the truth, should she reveal it? Was it easier for Gran to accept that her child’s death was a random act of violence or for her try to come to terms with a cold, calculated slaying perpetrated by a jealous, possessive, warped man that died without apparently facing justice? She just didn’t know. “So, they never did catch him?”

“No. I only hope that one day, the bastard gets his comeuppance.”

“Oh, Gran…” Joan hugged her tightly and cried for the senseless waste of her mum’s life.

 

Eventually, her sobs subsided and she released Harry. “I’m glad you brought me here, Gran,” she sniffed, “it hurts, but it helps too.”

Harry wiped the tears from her granddaughter’s pale cheeks with a frilly hanky. “I know it does, love, I know it does. But at least you found her.”

“Yeah, thank you. Um, can we go now?”

“Of course, lovey. We’ll have a nice cuppa and you can have a look at some of the photo albums, there’s some of you in there when you were a nipper.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, and what a cutie you were, all eyes and hair!” She laughed fondly, and linked her arm with Joan, “who’d have thought you’d turn out so tall, but. It looks good on you, though. Come on, then, let’s go - I’m properly parched.”

 

Harry set her cup in her saucer and sat back with a biscuit, “so, what are you going to do with yourself now? Will you move closer to Brian?”

That wanker? Joan made a scoffing noise, “Brian can rot for all I care! He doesn’t want me as a sister and I definitely don’t want _him_ as a brother. No, I’m about to sell the house and I intend to move down here to Brisbane as soon as my share of the money comes through. I want to go to university here.”

“University? What do you want with all that learning? You should be courting some nice boy and thinking about settling down! There’s plenty of little jobs you could do to keep you busy …”

“I don’t want a little job, Gran, I want a big one, one that I’m good at, one where I matter.”

“You want to be careful, dearie, men don’t want a brainy wife – it scares them!” This made Joan laugh softly in spite of her grief. “I’m serious,” warned Harry.

“I don’t think that going to be a problem, Gran.” She reached for a biscuit of her own.

“Well, I suppose that everybody is much more modern about these things nowadays, just don’t say that I didn’t warn you!”

Joan just smiled and shook her head in gentle amusement.

 

An idea came to Harry. “Do you know where you’re going to live in Brisbane?” she asked, her dark eyes were full of warmth as she gazed at her grandchild.

“No idea. But I’ve got to get looking soon or I’ll be homeless!”

“No, you won’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“You won’t be homeless, you’ll come and live here with your old Gran. Make up for some of that lost time. How’s that?” her fine brows arched high on her forehead and she offered an encouraging smile, her crinkled eyes wide and dancing with light as she beamed at Joan.

Joan couldn’t believe the old woman’s generosity, she obviously subscribed to the theory that blood was thicker than water. The only person she wanted to live with now was Maggie but something in her gut told her that she would be a fool not to accept this chance. “OK, but it’ll only be temporary, I want somewhere I can call my own, where I can just be me, you know what I mean?”

“Yes, love, I do.”


	2. Chapter 2

By the end of the month her father’s house had been sold. The day the money landed in her bank account she sold his car (at a loss) to a local garage and left taking nothing with her except a few clothes, her books and the fencing gear. And, of course, her mother’s record player and vinyl collection.

 

As the aircraft gained height, Joan mused how easy it was to leave everything bad behind her for a new life where she was in charge. She had almost done it once before but that had been as much about escaping her father as it had been about furthering herself, and she had been scared. This time however, she felt none of the apprehension that she thought she would, no sense of regret, only a quiet optimism that things were going to be different.

She let her mind spool as she day dreamed about her new life, how she would overcome the new challenges it presented, how she would reinvent herself to become the person her father never let her be, how she would be able to see Maggie any time she wanted to. Her heart swelled at this final thought.

 

Yet despite all her imaginings, the taxi ride through town to her new home seemed strangely surreal, as if it were merely some elaborate set dressing – the tangle of streets and houses so like every other town she’d ever visited during her fencing career, but oddly alien. For some strange reason, she half expected every police car she saw to pull them over and arrest her for fraud, for cheating her destiny.

The weird sensation persisted as she was fussed over by her gran and only started to fade when they washed up the supper things, the normality of the task seeming to ground her somehow.

 

“Do you mind if I go and unpack now?”

“Oh, my giddy aunt!” exclaimed Harry, as she realised that she hadn’t give Joan a minute to herself since she’d arrived, “I haven’t stopped talking all this time, have I, Joanie? You should have said something…!”

Joan smiled at the daft old woman, “It’s OK, I’ve enjoyed it. Honestly, it’s been lovely, but I’m just a bit tired.”

“Ooh, you don’t have to tell me, every time the Army shipped us somewhere new it was always the same…” Chattering away, Harry led the way into the master bedroom. It was dominated by a plain sleigh bed in burr walnut with curving head and foot boards. Lining the walls were a matching chest of drawers, a huge double wardrobe painted white, and a small dressing table and stool. Folded into one of the chimney breasts was a lacquered screen hand painted with Japanese scenes, and in the other stood a dress-maker’s dummy.

 

“So this is your room for as long as you want.”

“Was it my Mum’s room?

“Lawd no, we lived all over the place when your mum was a kid. But when your granddad retired I decided that I wasn’t going to put up with living like a gypsy when I didn’t have to so I made him buy this house with his lump sum. This was your granddad’s room.” She laughed at Joan's puzzled expression and gave her shoulder a playful push, “believe me, the best way to keep a marriage happy is separate rooms! But this was hers,” Harry crossed to the tall window and sat down on what looked like a low window seat. “This box has been passed down through generations of eldest daughters but your mum never got to take it with her to Russia, and when they came here your dad said that there was no room in their new life for old memories, so I kept it for you. Just as well, really, given what’s happened. I think that it’s some kind of nursing seat – see how this section lifts up like a back rest? But I wouldn’t like to have to have sat on it, not in the condition I was when I got home from the hospital! Oh no!” she broke off as Joan gave an almighty yawn, “but here’s me blathering on when you must be tuckered out, you poor thing – you’ve had a big day! I’ll let you get on, then. See you in the morning.” She stood on tiptoes to kiss Joan's cheek and disappeared to lock up the house for the night.

 

Not wishing to close the curtains against the beauty of the almost full moon as it climbed through the luminous night sky, Joan drew the screen across the naked window and discovered that the reverse was mirrored. Stepping into the horse shoe formed by the panels she pulled the wings in around her and marvelled at how she was reflected into infinity.

Leaning in towards the central panel Joan stared at herself. She inspected her face for the girl that had been a prisoner in her first family, but she was gone. It was unsettling how content she felt but she wasn’t going to fight it, all she needed now she thought, was Maggie to complete her perfect new life. Oh, Maggie, Maggie! She would be here soon. With no rules to keep them apart.

 

She couldn’t sleep. The bloody bed was too short! The blankets were tucked too tightly! She was too hot! In her frustration, she threw the covers off her sticky body and yanked them out from the foot of the mattress. As she tugged she caught sight of her ghostly reflection and smiled at the absurd looking girl in the mirror with her sleep skewed hair and thoroughly dishevelled nightdress, wrestling a sheet and blanket for dominance.  Feeling faintly ludicrous, she climbed off the bed and tilted the central panel until her face was visible and stepped back to view her image.

The moonlight gleamed on her pale skin, highlighting the soft curves of her long limbs as it flowed around her in the stillness. The moon’s rays had never penetrated her bedroom at home, and for so long she had shied away from looking at all of herself in a mirror, only managing to inspect regulated portions – and then only when necessary.

Joan pulled her nightdress over her head and gazed at her silvery-blue nakedness. Her paleness reflected the flat light back into the mirror and she was lit with an ethereal secondary luminescence. She wondered if Maggie was still awake, and if she was staring at the moon too.

 

Even though she still cringed at her clumsy attempt to kiss her, she couldn’t forget the electricity she’d felt as she’d pushed her body against Maggie's. It crawled all over her for the entirety of Maggie's visit to Townsville and stung her skin every time they spoke on the phone.

The back of Joan's neck began to prickle with heat and her lips twitched as the flush spread through her core. Slowly, her palms skimmed her hips, then her long waist and ribs as they sought the heavy fullness of her silken breasts and she let out a little gasp of pleasure as her nipples and sex tightened in anticipation.

 

Her long fingers flowed over the jutting curves, up over her crinkled tips before her palms pressed roughly into the soft flesh, pushing her tits up and into her chest as she ground the heels of her hands into swelling nipples, holding the pressure until her whole body was awash with sensation. Ohhh, that felt so good. She mauled her breasts then, fantasising that it was Maggie touching them, twisting, stretching, crushing her nipples, making her jerk as her thighs clenched and her cunt convulsed under the divine touch, making her clit grow harder with each electrifying pulse she wrought with her rough hands. God, she wanted Maggie!

 

Joan watched herself, saw how her body undulated under her own touch, watched how her pale lips slackened and stretched with each wave of pleasure. Her wet, open mouth glistened darkly beneath even darker eyes and she brought two fingers to it, moistening them before pushing them into the damp tangle between her legs.     

Thick, creamy wetness welcomed her fingertips and they slipped easily along her silken slit until they crested her clit. Her hips rocked and she staggered a little, “oh my god!” she yelped breathlessly, “oh, jesuuus…!” She slid her fingers back into the twitching well of her core and slowly rotated her pelvis against her hand, riding the sweet bursts of excitement until her clit was dry and she was panting like a dog. Christ, that felt amazing!

Joan dropped her other hand and opened her cunt wide, thrusting it towards the mirror as she bathed her swollen flesh with syrupy secretions. Her hair fell around her face as she looked down her flat belly at her bulging clit, and clung to her damp cheeks as she lifted her face again to gaze at all of herself.   

 

Her deep pink interior shone a dusky mauve against the blue/black of her pubic hair and it flashed quicksilver where the cool moonlight played on the slick of heady wetness. Massaging her swollen flesh with slippery fingers, the pleasure built until her knees were quaking and she scrambled onto the bed, falling into the middle and twisting so that she could still see herself in the mirror. The angled rays of the moon caught her long legs and splashed gently across her ribs and chest to lap at her open mouth. She fancied that she could feel it’s cool touch on her hot skin, brushing against her swollen lips in a silent kiss.

 

One foot, then the other, found the smooth curve of the footboard and her toes curled over the tapered lip as she rocked onto her fingers, working one, then two inside her hot channel. Ohhh, it was too divine! A breathy moan escaped her throat. Her hips cleared the mattress as she pumped her fingers as deep as she could, angling her cunt to feel every thrust, every slurping push and pull, every eyelid fluttering rotation of her wrist. With her free hand, she pinched her nipples, pulling at them until they stood long and hard, until the signals they flashed to her cunt brought the surging approach of orgasm. But she didn’t want to come now, she wanted to stretch this amazing feeling out forever, to ride this wave of bliss until she was so completely overwhelmed she dissolved into the liquid decadence.

 

She imagined that Maggie was sitting in the shadows, watching her touch herself, and she writhed with pleasure at the seductive thought. With exquisite slowness, she drew her fingers from the soft tightness of her vagina and delicately stroked the contours of her swollen inner labia, consciousness melting into fine ripples of ecstasy that suffused her senses. Joan sank down onto the mattress and spread her legs wide, opening her hot sex to the night air once more as she began to rub and stroke herself onto higher and higher planes of utter delight. Her glittering eyes watched as her hand roamed her satiny skin until it was grabbing once more at her breasts, and she let herself go, surrendering herself to the sweet, swirling darkness of release. As she came, Maggie's face swam behind Joan's closed eyelids and she gave a strangled, gasping howl that emptied her lungs and left her gasping for air. Feet still splayed, she pulled her quivering knees together and luxuriated in the slowly ebbing glow of her orgasm.

 

She lay in the half-shadows, sweating, her chest heaving and trembling with the wild beating of her heart as she felt the softly coloured darkness begin to stroke her senses, but her clit pulsed insistently against her sticky fingertips and slowly, her hand began to re-ignite the slippery flesh, relaxing the twitching ring of muscle with it’s rough, fleshy pad until her fingers were admitted once more into the caldera of her cunt.

Pushing herself up the bed she yanked the feather bolster towards her and mounted it, imagining the solid bulk beneath her was Maggie. She gripped it tightly as she furiously rode her hand, squeezing it between strong thighs and pushing her needy mouth into the patterned cover whilst her fingers curled against her g-spot. The mass of feathers beneath her hand became Maggie's breast and she grabbed at it whilst she heaved and twisted in her fantasy. Her skin tingled and buzzed as she remembered the heat of Maggie's body that night, the solid contact between them as she’d kissed her…oh, fuck! She wanted to feel that again, she needed to feel it again, she _would_ feel it again!

 

Levering herself onto her elbow, Joan stared at her reflection in the mirror as she ground against her cramping hand. Her long leg muscles strained and her curvy backside dipped and rose with every urgent rotation of her shining hips. Her left breast jiggled as, half-trapped by her arm, it was jostled with every thrust but her right swung free, her swollen nipple grazing the bolster, reminding her of the pleasure it could offer. Angling her wrist, she brushed the hardened tip with the back of her fingers and trapped it between her knuckles, plucking it hard as she sensed her second orgasm gathering pace. The plucking soon stopped and she pulled and twisted until it felt like her cunt would contract so tightly it would shatter into a million pieces of liquid bliss.

 

Her eyes closed as she thought about how good Maggie's hands would feel on her bum right now, what it would be like if Maggie's fingers were to join hers as they slipped in and out, filling her till she could take no more…

Joan's whole body stiffened and it felt like every signal it could possibly send was centred on the spot between her legs. She shuddered helplessly and mashed her clit into her wet palm, grunting into the bolster with each blinding convulsion until she was left clinging weakly to its lumpy, wrinkled length, aching yet curiously light. Exhausted at last, she struggled under the rumpled covers and snuggled up to the bolster, hand still cupping her damp cunt as sleep claimed her.


End file.
